Slipped
by Kerrison
Summary: Season 7 Spoilers Ziva slips - and he's there to catch her. Just like he has always been. High rating due to the mention of adult subjects. *Now Complete*
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read my various little attempts at stories. I truly enjoy hearing from each of you when you review. The reviews go straight to my cell phone and, as I work in a VERY stressful job, I can't tell you how fantastic it is to hear my phone buzz with a new review. Honest - it makes my day so much nicer. **

**This may or maynot have a 2nd chapter to it. :-/ We'll see!**

* * *

The Snyder case had taken all week. Tony'd been in the field with Gibbs, leaving Ziva and McGee to man the bullpen.

Vance had extended Ziva's visitor's pass with no known expiration date, but still her role on the team was limited.

Desk work only. No direct contact with suspects or evidence.

Before Damocles, she would have been so impatient, she would have bitten McGee's head off by the second hour stuck in the office. But it was to Tim's sad surprise, that the new Ziva seemed to not waste her energy on her anger.

Her fire was gone.

When Tony and Gibbs headed down to the parking lot, her eyes didn't follow them with envy or hope. There was no sign that she was eager to join them. She merely sat at her desk, her hands demurely in her lap until Tim gently mentioned their course-of-attack with data retrieval for the case.

She didn't think on her feet or take initiative.

She merely sat. And waited.

It seemed to Tim as if she was merely glad to be present, never mind a participant.

* * *

Tim cradled the phone to his ear as his fingers flew across his keys. "Yeah boss," he said. "Yeah, we're almost finished the reports and then we'll head out," he said before hanging up. His eyes barely left his screen as he turned his attention to Ziva.

"They're on their way back- should be here soon. Gibbs said we can go home once the reports are done," he said to her, offering a gentle smile across the aisle.

She grinned. "My report is done and you sound as if you are almost done with yours."

"Yep," he said simply. "Can't tell you how happy I am to be going home before midnight. I've got a date with my typewriter and some jazz music."

"Sounds…thrilling?" she said with a polite chuckle as she watched Tim finish typing with a flourish. "And what is going on these days in the world of Agent Tommy and Officer Lisa?"

McGee hit the print command, shouldered his bag and stood, heading past her desk on his way to the elevator.

"I don't know," he replied with a mischievous glint in his eye. "The story hasn't unwrapped that part of the plot yet."

"I believe Officer _Lisa_," Ziva said with an emphasis on her doppelganger's name, "will head down to the gym. She is overdue for a workout."

Tim smiled good naturedly at her as the elevator doors shut.

* * *

She tried to keep her elbows tucked to her sides, but the desire to hunch over and collapse her ribcage in a defensive posture became overwhelming. Maintaining her fighting posture was a conscious effort instead of the second-nature it had been for as far back as she could remember.

It was frustrating.

And where frustration used to fuel her, now frustration brought the gentle burn of unshed tears to the corner of her eyes.

Which made her even more frustrated that her emotions were dictated by something so out of her control.

She brought her arm out again to connect her fist with the large bag in front of her. The shock of impact traveling up her arm was a familiar jolt.

She struck again. The bag swayed from the force of the kick.

Her arm punched again. The bag swayed.

And again.

Only this time it did not sway.

And she pulled her eyes away from the center of her target where she had clearly imagined Saleem's face on the bag. She had become so engrossed in her world where she was punching _him, _that she had neither heard nor seen someone join her in the gym.

She looked up to see his warm eyes regarding her with a mixture of concern and amusement.

Ziva managed to look somewhat abashed at his sneaking up on her twice in as many weeks.

"I think your ninja skills are on the fritz," he said with a friendly twinkle in his eye.

"Or yours have just improved immensely," she countered, punching the bag again, grateful of Tony's hands settling the movements.

"I doubt that," he said, moving his hand out of the way at the last moment as she swung wide, almost taking out his knuckles.

She grinned a bit at his reply which disguised his praise. "How did the case go? Was Pulaski easy to apprehend?"

"There was running involved," he said simply, watching as she shifted her weight and began to relax more into the motions of her workout. "I think I'm out of shape."

She flicked her eyes at him, taking in his face- not his physique- and offered a half-smile. "Less beer, more running perhaps?"

_She's been thousands of miles away and yet she's still got you pegged, DiNozzo. _

"Know anyone who wants to go for a run every week?"

Ziva shifted on her toes. "Perhaps. Let's see if I actually am staying on with the team before making long-term plans, Tony."

"Long term plans and the team aren't one and the same, Zi," he said simply, not noticing how the nickname rolled off his tongue so easily.

"Oh?"

"Its not like we're going to shun you if Gibbs won't let you back on the team. I mean, shun Gibbs? Maybe. But you? No."

She lifted her left hand to block position, covering her face, and struck out hard with the right, causing the bag to sway slightly even in Tony's grip. "Shunning Gibbs sounds like a dangerous choice, Tony."

He chuckled, watching as she shifted her weight to try a round-house kick. "Probably is. But that doesn't mean that you're not worth it."

The gentle weight of his words knocked her balance of center and she felt her foot twist and slip, her body falling towards the floor.

She felt the mat impact her fall, but her head rebounded and snapped back, blurring her vision for a hot minute just as the wind got knocked out of her. She couldn't tell if she should try to force her body to blink or breathe.

He scrambled to her side, resting his hands on either side of her face and he gently called her name, watching as she blinked hard, trying to focus on his face.

"Ziva? Hey… Ziva?"

She felt his breath, hot on her face and his body looming over hers.

The hands positioned on either side of her face. His chest so close to her own. His hip touching hers.

The panic set in without any conscious thought from her.

She was in another place, only a short time ago. And her body rushed, everything on high-alert as she scrambled to find a way out from under the oppressive, torturous grip of Saleem.

Her eyes went wide, but were unseeing. Her breath came quickly but she felt deprived of oxygen. She was crushed by his presence.

Her body was conditioned – when they were in her personal space, when they used their larger bulk to force her into place, when they hovered over her, their breath hot against her face and their unshaven cheeks rough against her skin as they grunted into her…. Her body was conditioned.

And while the 'fight' response had been beaten out of her, the 'flight' response had not.

And she shimmed, shoved, and pushed her way up and away from him on the gym mats.

As soon as he recognized the unseeing look for the panic attack that it was, he moved out of her arm's reach as quickly as possible, giving her the space her body craved. Though, if anyone had asked, all he wanted to do was hug her and protect her from her demons. And that was only second-place to the overwhelming desire to resurrect Saleem and kill him again.

Ziva's back came to rest against the brick wall of the gym, her chest heaving as her mind finally caught up with her body's reaction. This wasn't that nasty building that stunk of mildew and rot. Tony wasn't Saleem. She had slipped, not been thrown to the floor after a vicious beating.

She had slipped.

And for a moment, her embarrassment at an all-too-human mis-step, overwhelmed her embarrassment for her panic attack.

And it caused a sardonic chuckle to cross her lips.

Her arms came up and crossed her chest, folding in - an unconscious gesture to protect oneself.

"Hey," he said, tentatively moving across the mat to her side. "Ziva? Um…"

"Can you leave?" she managed to mutter through her gritted teeth.

"What? Are you nuts?" he said, air sliding through his throat in a disbelieving chuckle. "I am _not _leaving."

"Please, Tony –"

"No," he said firmly, coming to kneel at her side. "No," his voice softer this time.

"I would like to have my nervous breakdown in private, if you do not mind."

He blinked at her honesty. "Sorry, Charlie, no can do. I'm staying right here."

She looked up, the embarrassment from her panic attack no longer enough to keep her curiosity at bay. Why was he still here? After everything she had done, he still was at her side during all of _this._

"Is your ankle ok?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, a lock of dark curls falling in her face. Before she could move to tuck it behind her ear, his fingers delicately placed the offending lock back into place.

They both paused and regarded each other with a knowing smile when they realized the simple touch had sparked no panic at all.

"My ankle is fine. I think it is the rest of me that is broken."

"Not broken," he said softly. "Maybe just a few dings."

"Vance said I was damaged goods."

"Vance is an ass."

She let the corner of her mouth curl into light smile. "Yes. But perhaps he is right."

"We're like the island of misfit toys, Ziva. You're one of us now."

* * *

He had settled back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with her, and spent the better part of thirty minutes trying to explain the "misfit toy" reference before they both agreed that merely watching the old version of "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer" would be better than trying to explain the entire movie.

When his knee began to ache from being tucked-under him on the floor, he stood and gently held out a hand to her.

After a mere heartbeat's pause, she put her palm in his and allowed him to haul her to her feet.

The stood toe to toe.

Tony sighed and cautiously, gently, pulled her to him - just as they had done many times in the past. He was relieved when she returned the embrace and tucked her head under his chin.

The gentle fragrance of her shampoo tickled his nose and Tony couldn't help but smile against the top of her head at the familiarity of the embrace.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he managed to ask, his voice ever-so light and gentle.

She remained silent for a few moments before her voice could be heard, though muffled against his chest.

"No, I do not _want_ to. But I suppose I should."

"Do you want to talk to _me_ about it?" he asked again.

Ziva stepped back and allowed their eyes to meet. "Yes."

"Ok."

"But only if you are comfortable-" she started before he cut her off by closing his arms around her again.

"Let's go get some dinner and talk about whatever you want."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This is unbeta'd. All mistakes, typos, plot no-nos, rushing characters, etc, are MINE not my betas'. (Because they're awesome and keep me in line and would never let me do anything bad.) This JUST got written and I don't want to wait to publish, so up it goes. Hope you all don't hate it too much... :-/**

* * *

The sound of the shower running in the background was somewhat soothing. Tony sat on the sofa, his head tilted to loll across the back of the couch and he stared blankly at the ceiling.

His mind swam with images of things he had never wanted to know. His nightmares had been confirmed and they were more heinous than he had imagined even in his most fitful slumber.

Chinese takeout and a bottle of wine had set the stage for a night of comfortable companionship after they left the gym.

She had started her story telling somewhat reluctantly has he picked at the beef and broccoli with his chopsticks.

Tony was sure he'd never be able to have beef and broccoli again without remembering every word she said.

Good thing it wasn't his favorite because he sure as hell was never ordering it again.

For someone who had a habit of using as few words necessary to speak, she had spent the better part of two hours reliving every miserable moment with Saleem. He was sure she had spared the worst details – the way her eyes flicked and she paused in contemplative silence at particular moments gave her away. She was still holding out.

Despite everything she had been through, she was holding back to _protect _him. He knew. He knew how she would keep the dirtiest of the secrets as her own burden to bare.

If only he had been the one to pull the trigger, he'd feel a small amount of satisfaction in Saleem's death.

Gibbs had been efficient. And unexpected. And one hell of an ace-in-the-hole.

But right now, right this minute as the bitter and foul taste of Ziva's memories was still fresh on Tony's tongue, he would have happily traded a life without sex just to be the one to beat the ever loving breath out of the bastard that had raped Ziva. And raped her again. And again.

She had said that the beatings were the relief. The beatings were the nice part of the day. The men that were permitted into her cell for their own form of relief- that was the torture.

Her lip had quivered and he had set his food down on the coffee table and gently pulled hers out of her own hand while moving towards her on the couch.

Watching her weep wasn't something he was accustomed to.

But he still wiped her tear with his thumb and refused to flinch when she leaned into his touch and moved so she rested her head on his chest when she cried.

He wrapped his arms around her, careful to not be too tight and make her feel restrained. Tony rubbed gentle circles on her back and placed light kisses to the crown of her head, completely unsure of what else he could do.

When her sobs stopped and the tears slowed, she had pulled away with a look of embarrassment on her face.

Tony refused to allow her a moment of regret and defused the situation by looking down at his tear-stained shirt with false anger.

"Well those mascara marks are going to stain," he teased, knowing full well she didn't wear mascara nor did he see any marks on either his shirt nor her eyes.

He stood and reached gently for her hand and pulled her to her feet.

She followed silently as he lead the way down the hall and it was the silence that made his heart break a little more.

When they reached his bedroom, he let go of her hand in front of the foot of his bed.

Tony riffled through his drawer before coming out with two sets of more comfortable clothes.

"Why don't you go splash some water on your face or something?" he said softly, handing her an OSU t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants that were obviously not his.

She frowned down at the pants when she recognized them as a pair she had left behind many many months ago - and the look she gave him was nothing less than incredulous.

He shrugged. "I have trouble throwing away important things," was his reply to her unspoken question.

She watched as began unbuttoning the buttons on his dress-shirt. He paused when he realized she was watching him undress. "Hey! The show isn't free! Go on." he said, shooing her into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

He quickly switched from his work clothes into his casual sweat pants and t-shirt and remembered to put his dirty clothes into the hamper instead of just a pile on the floor.

On the way back out to the livingroom, he was pleasantly surprised to hear the sound of the shower.

It was just a shower.

To any other woman, it was just a shower at a friend's house.

But to him, it was everything.

A shower was incredibly intimate.

Nudity. Vulnerability.

She trusted him.

She trusted him enough to bare her bruised soul over Chinese food and a good bottle of wine.

And now she trusted him enough to bare her bruised body to his apartment, trusting him to protect her while she showered.

He had settled in to the middle of the sofa, leaning his head back and regarding the ceiling with numbness before finally closing his eyes, letting his hands cover his forehead and trying to tame the herd of hateful emotions that were almost overwhelming.

He vaguely recalled hearing the water turn off. And he vaguely recalled hearing the bathroom door open.

Yet when he felt her fingers settle gently over the back of his hands and delicately pull his hands away from his eyes, he was still slightly surprised.

Surprised she initiated contact. Surprised he had been so lost in his word of hate, that he hadn't heard her enter the room and cross to stand behind the sofa.

He looked up, her wet hair framing their faces as she leaned down over him.

"Stop it." she said simply.

He opened his mouth to offer a witty reply which implied that he didn't know to what she was referring.

"Stop it," Ziva repeated.

He sighed and closed his eyes again for a moment. He felt her fingers shift on his hands, twisting so that she laced their fingers together.

"Stop thinking of ways you could have prevented it. Stop thinking of ways you can resurrect Saleem and kill him again. Stop thinking of all those things."

He allowed his fingers to tighten around hers.

Sometimes it was freaky how she seemed to live in his mind.

"I did not tell you so you would spend hours brooding, Tony," she said, slipping one hand from his grasp and moving around his couch to the front and sitting next to him – the other hand remaining firmly clasped in his.

"I do not know why I told you," she said with a frown, speaking more to herself than to him.

"Because you needed to tell _someone,_" he said, hooking a finger under her chin and meeting her gaze.

"No – I could have told Man-Hands. Or Gibbs. Or Vance," she said clearly. "But I needed to tell _you_."

"I'm glad you did." Tony nodded, letting his free hand slide from her chin to her cheek and he allowed himself the luxury of caressing her check with his thumb once. Twice. "Thank you."

She nodded and cleared her throat, her voice taking on a more businesses-like air. "I have found that there are some things that make me uncomfortable now. Things that did not bother me before."

"Oh," was his quick reply as he quickly removed his hand from her cheek.

He tried to slip their linked fingers on the other hand, as well, but her grip tightened and wouldn't let his hand go.

"No," she said quickly. "What I mean is that these things – the more I do them with people I trust, the less they make me uncomfortable."

Tony felt the furrow of a frown between his eyes, clearly not understanding.

"Like Abby. And her Hugs," Ziva said her voice rushed. "I was worried about hugging people … but… Abby, Gibbs, McGee…I was uncomfortable at first- but just briefly."

"And me?" he said softly. "Did I make the list?"

Ziva let a quick chuckle cross her lips. "Yes. But I was uncomfortable for an entirely different reason."

Tony nodded once with a half-shrug. _Fair enough_, he thought to himself.

She squeezed her fingers around his. "You cannot resurrect him, Tony," Ziva said, her voice soft. "You cannot go back and fix it."

"I know," his words were course with the hatred he felt towards that particular truth. "I hate it, but I know."

"But you can help me fix me," she whispered. "It is a lot to ask, I know, after everything that's happened, but-."

He sighed in frustration and couldn't keep his hands under control. He twisted his fingers from her grasp and moved his hands to gently cup her face. "You're not broken, Zi. There's nothing to fix."

She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes when she felt him place a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"I feel broken," she said, feeling the tears peak from her eyes again. She swiped at them with the back of her hand, frustrated that she cried more often recently than in the rest of her adult life.

"You're not broken," he repeated as he carefully pulled away from her embrace and stood up from the couch. "Just a little bruised. Nothing that time and good friends won't fix."

Ziva watched as he moved towards the large bookshelf next to the TV which housed a small portion of his very large movie collection, make a quick selection and then pop the film into the DVD player.

He resumed his place by her side, his arm extending across the back of the sofa. Tony flipped his attention between the remote and his partner. "Do movies make you uncomfortable these days?" he asked, only slightly teasing.

"No."

"Good. How about movies with your partner?"

"No, Tony." she said, shaking her head.

"Best news I've heard in a while," he replied.

She nodded and turned her attention to the film, the Paramount logo coming onto the screen, followed by the opening scenes for Sabrina. 

"But snuggling is something I need to be more comfortable with," she said softly, somewhat uncertain if she had gotten the word 'snuggling' right until she felt this hand move from the back of the sofa and settle on her far shoulder, ever-so-gently pulling her into his side.

"That is something I am happy to help you out with," he said. "Just promise me you won't do any of _this _particular stuff with McGee."

"Jealous, Tony?" she asked, snuggling into his side, resting her head on his shoulder and tentatively resting her hand on his chest.

"Always, Ziva," he said, turning and placing a quick kiss onto her crown. "Always."


End file.
